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Mabel nodded, looking to the chimneys stacked like squat birds on the roof. “He was quite a good friend to Charles, and he would be utterly mortified if he was to hear me now, so if I take you in my confidence, will you promise not to reveal your source?”
“I will do my best.”
Mabel looked to him, her eyebrows pulling together. She could not help it; she was drawn to him without her consent. She very much wished she could keep her gaze from searching out his honey-colored eyes, but it was moot. She swallowed a sigh. She would just have to be utterly convincing.
“If that is the best you can promise, then I suppose it will have to do. Now—” She leaned in, her voice lowering in preparation to impart her secret. A scent tickled her nose, husky in a comfortable sort of way, nearly thwarting her scheme by its distraction.
“Yes?” he asked, leaning closer, his scent growing stronger and further clouding Mabel’s mind.
She cleared her throat. “Please remember that I only tell you this so you might help Charles catch a fish. I am certain he would like to impress Miss Pemberton.”
“Of course,” Mac said, shifting on his feet, his boots crunching the gravel.
“This friend often fished with Charles and nearly always caught fish when my cousin was ever so hopeless. So one day I asked Charles’s friend if he might tell me how he was able to catch fish when my own cousin returned empty-handed nearly every time—despite his lucky equipment.”
Liam’s face became a work of stone, the only movement a quick flash of recognition in his eyes. He must have thought he knew where she was heading, but he couldn’t. Mabel’s stomach fluttered, but she could not back out now. She had already gone this far. Liam surely knew she was telling him a story of his own childhood, that he was the boy from that day. The only difference now…well, she could only press on.
“This friend told me that Charles would never catch a fish because he was wholly ignorant. He’d never been taught the proper way to do so. According to this friend, Charles was incapable of catching anything because he never let the pole rest. He was constantly pulling his pole from the water and re-casting it somewhere else, hardly giving the fish time to nibble and completely disrupting the water in the process.”
“That seems like sound advice,” Mac said, gazing at her.
It was sound advice. But she was not finished.
“What he proposed Charles do, however, was not bother with recasting his pole at all, but to leave it in one place and hum fish songs ever so softly.” She leaned in, holding her mirth close to her chest, doing her utmost to keep her expression neutral. “Charles’s friend actually told him that humming softly drew the fish toward him, that it was something he did so very quietly, that he was always successful in making a catch. I am afraid Charles has never ceased this practice.”
Mac’s eyebrows drew together, doubt clouding his eyes. “Are you absolutely certain you are remembering it correctly?”
Mabel drew in a gasp, her chest puffing in umbrage. “Sir, do you call my memory faulty?”
“Never,” he said, though she could tell he did not stand behind his claim. For him to believe that she would not know him by now, he would certainly have to think her memory increasingly faulty.
“Then you doubt my story?” she asked, tilting her head to the side. He was close to disputing her claim, she could tell. She merely needed to add something, to make the story even more ridiculous, and surely Mac’s pride would force him to contradict her.
Mac opened his mouth as though to speak but promptly closed it again. Glancing just over the top of Mabel’s head—something she wholly loved—Mac’s gaze settled firmly on something behind her.
“Are you ready?” Charles asked, gathering their attention. “I’ve been waiting in the stables this last quarter-hour.”
“You told me to meet you here,” Mac said, though his gaze flicked back to Mabel. There was a measure of uncertainty lurking within the pools of honey, and Mabel wondered if she had gone too far. Mac would either think her a liar now, or he would begin to doubt that she didn’t remember him.
“Mabel, the women are in the drawing room, and I took the liberty of inviting them to use the music room and the library as often or as much as they please.”
“But Charles, the pianoforte has not been maintained. Surely it is out of tune.”
Distress passed over his face. “Will you see that it is put in working order?” Stepping closer, he took hold of Mabel’s hand. “I would appreciate it ever so much, Cousin.”
“Of course,” she said, nodding. “I will see to it right away.” Offering the men a tight smile, Mabel turned for the house. Heat seared the back of her neck as she felt the gentlemen’s gazes follow her across the gravel drive, and she quickened her pace, reaching the door in swift, long steps. She refused to glance over her shoulder, to find if the owner of the fiery gaze was her cousin or his friend, but her heart told her that Charles could never incite such a feeling within her.
But why would Mac? The man had all but told her on that fateful day in the vale that she was undesirable. Just to remain in the same room with him now caused nothing short of distress.
The tinkling of high-pitched female conversation lilted down the corridor and ran disagreeable shivers up Mabel’s arms. She was not comfortable in the presence of other women—those who were petite and lovely and everything a gentleman desired in a wife.
It was not the ladies’ fault Mabel felt so at odds against them, and she understood that. But it did not make the drastic differences any easier to bear. She would forever be the last lady chosen, the one left standing against the wall as all others were asked to dance.
Leaning against the closed door, Mabel drew herself up to her full height, her pride rearing its head and commanding that she not cower.
Rubbing at her temples as she ran the list of things she needed to do through her mind, Mabel closed her eyes and imagined the reward she would give herself for completing the duties of the day: she would remove to the nursery following dinner, and she would read to Pippa. Surely the guests would not find fault in her absence if she was with her sister.
With that delightful prospect, Mabel willingly went to check the pianoforte.
